Listening to You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go by Bob Dylan

When a critic asked Bob Dylan how he must have felt about the enormous critical reception of Blood On The Tracks, Dylan said "I don't know why someone could love something that's written about so much pain." Probably just rock lore. Whatever. I have to attend a couple of weddings this summer. On is for very close friends - Casey and Megan - and I can't wait for that. The other is a close friend - Andy - that I use to sing with in college.
Now, I am extremely conscious of the bittersweet nature of the "date problem" at weddings. Weddings always make me extremely happy for the people getting married, especially if I feel like it will work out and I haven't had to spend that much money. But they also make me inward looking and sad to think that I might never have one of my own. Or worse, that I will be lonely and dateless for the rest of my life. Now, at Andy's wedding, there will be a huge crew of guys I went to college with, few have wives, the rest are single, so that bodes well. And at Casey and Megan's wedding my best friend Steve will be there. And if there is someone that I would date for the rest of my life without ever having sex it would be Steve. I don't doubt that at all. HOWEVER -and it is a big however - my high school sweetheart will be at the wedding with her now husband. Sigh. That should be interesting. And as if that hasn't been on the back of my mind, last night at work some french chick with droopy boobs was like "I like you - you're cute - I like your little tummy." WHAT!?? fucking little tummy bullshit. What's that about? After working a thirteen hour shift the last thing I want to hear about my gut. Especially from some weird french lady. And if she can see it then everybody can see it. And i didn't even think it existed! Fuck. Not a good two days. Oh well! Off to work again.

Listening to Ida (the song where "I'll be waiting" repeats over and over)

My ex Alex is in town for the weekend. We went out for a couple of beers yesterday afternoon. Remind anyone of a Paul Simon song? We ended up having a pretty lengthy discussion about our past, our present relationships, our hopes for the future, etc. She's embroiled in a pretty deep romance with a fine gentleman named Christopher. In a few weeks Chris will be off to pursue his dreams in Alaska for about 6 months. Alex is much more magnetized to urban centers. Though they care very deeply about each other, and are going to remain together over this immense amount of distance, Alex couldn't help but lament the difficulties of such separation.
After an afternoon of beer, bourbon and steak tartare we came back to my apartment, watched some of the Red Sox game, and her friend Emily stopped by and they went out for a night on the town. I felt like an old man and went to sleep. Today, I can't help but feel like we had accomplished something significant in our discourse. It was closure. Not closure on our relationship, as that will continue to evolve over the coming years, but a sense of closure on our romantic lives. It was a very nice moment for me. Historically, I have not been the best at maintaining post-relationship relationships. There are many tee-shirts, DVDs, books, and other articles that I wish I could recover from past ... conflagrations ... but, alas, when it comes time to end things I have always been of the school of ripping the band-aid off as quickly as possible.
Since I have made a concerted effort in the past year to only date women that I think I could really truly fall in love with I have also decided to be better about staying in touch afterwards. In the past, I only stopped communication because I thought it would be damaging to both parties. It's amazing how things can occur and open your eyes to the relative gravity of your feelings. That seems to be the case with me sometimes. After dating a woman for a week she was hit by a car. Yes, by a car. Her family descended on her, her friends were all there, and I was there too. Just sort of lost. I felt like an intruder. And in a way, I was. She also happened to fall asleep once while we were having sex. Needless to say, once she was in better health I ended up leaving the relationship. It's not something I am proud of, but an exit is still an exit regardless of whether it is graceful or clumsy.
And when things end, if the answer isn't clean cut like you have leprosy or something, the offended party always seems to want to know. This has always bothered me too. Please - tell me why you don't find me attractive. I want to make sure that I have something to dwell on in the next couple of lonely months. Why torture yourself? I had a girl ask me why we wouldn't go out on a second date when I declined her invitation. I didn't reply to her e-mail. Is it better to say nothing at all? I think so. And how much cold comfort can you get out of someone saying "I just wasn't feeling it."
I have been daydreaming of blue skies and green fields and a warm breeze lately. I have been thinking of southern Vermont. The countryside spread out before me with nary a car in site. The smell of hay and freshly shorn grass. I woke up this morning feeling a little touch of misery in the pit of my stomach. I think I may need a vacation. Maybe just a step away from things for a little while. My brothers think that my life is a vacation. Most of the time I am inclined to believe them. Other times not so much. For all of you out there that need an escape, I hope that you find some small solace in your daily ritual today. Some little a-rhythmic blip that helps shock you out of your comatose state and allows you a glimpse at a time when you were a little bit happier.
Tonight I am off for drinks with married friends. Should be interesting. And oh yes, took this camera phone picture with a friend last night. It is called "Angry and drinking YooHoo."

Listening to Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes

Yawn. Stretch. *Eye-rub*. Really, what is better than sleep? Maybe one thing. Sex right when you wake up. That kind of wake-up-cuddle-which-eventually-turns-into-penetration-with-morning-wood kind of sex. But when without, sleep is pretty fucking good. I have got to tell you. I love it. I do it almost every night and sometimes during the day. I'm a big fan. I love it. I love the feel of clean sheets, the pull of the comforter, everything. Pillows - you name it - I am all over it.
Spoke to my best friend last night. He's in Chicago shooting some Industrial for a caner preventative. Kudos, Steve! That's awesome. It is always good to know that the people you care about are doing well. I didn't end up working last night. It was so cold that the bar where I work (an outside roof bar) sent me home eventually. I looked around for people to meet for a drink. There was no one to be found. I went home and went to sleep. After doing some reading. The place where I work ... It creates such a fragile bond between employee and guest. I have never been at a place where my morale can just dissipate so thoroughly and quickly. It is an act of willpower to maintain a positive attitude most of the time. And I am a positive person. Oh well.
My fantasy novel, Feast of Crows by George R.R. Martin, is failing to be as entertaining as the first three books he wrote in the series. It doesn't help that he has managed to kill off every sympathetic, moral, and likeable character in the book. Let me geek-out for a second. You see, by the end of the first book, every character that I liked and felt had some sort of justifiable moral perspective, albeit slightly naive, was killed off. But I held on. And then in the next book a couple of other characters came to the forefront. And in the third book the sons of the really likeable characters died. I guess I am just a sucker for a happy ending. But let me ask you a question? Would you want to read a book populated by all of the reprehensible, un-charismatic, villains that killed off all of your favorite characters? Of course not. It's a lot like if in Empire Strikes Back Han, Luke, Leia, Chewy, R-2 and C-3PO were all dead. And all you saw was the in-fighting between the Sith Lords. I mean -where is the fun in that? Okay - so the villains are a little charismatic. But still - why kill of Robb Stark? What up with that? And all of this Cersei and Jaime stuff - a little dry. A little boring. And all this shit with the Dornish Prince - gag! I mean what the fuck. It feels like to me that this guy is just thinking BOOK FRANCHISE at the expense of quality story-telling. Which leads me to a secondary point.
End things early rather than later. Best case in point- the BBC's Office. When the American Office took flight one of the many producers of the show was quoted as saying " I don't know why they stopped it. This Office could go on forever." Which is completely symptomatic of the problem with American television. The first narrative is always the strongest. It always will be. All the derivations that follow will be nothing but poor dilutions of that first main story. Example : Ross and Rachel - strong.



Joey and Rachel - weak.

Sam and Diane - strong.

Sam and Rebecca - weak.
See how it goes? We don't want to let it end. Seinfeld ended on time, just badly. In the BBC shows last three or four seasons and that is it. The way it should be. Go out strong. That's what I say. So I beg of you George R.R. Martin, end this shit soon and let all of these assholes get their comeuppance for killing off my favorite characters. And if you fucking touch Jon Snow I will personally come to your house and defecate in your cookware.

Listening to She's Already Made Up Her Mind by Lyle Lovett

As your adult life takes shape and moves through the summer of your lifetime reflection becomes less of a painful habit and more of a comforting friend. It assumes the role of the neighbor who stops by for a cup of tea, sits down, listens, and offers nothing but the solace of a listening face. My friend Dan is a lot like that. I can talk a lot and Dan can listen a lot. It is one of the hallmarks of our relationship. That and bourbon.
I promised myself last summer that I would no longer become involved in relationships that I felt would not go anywhere. I think that I have managed to keep that promise. But when I look back at my life and see a long path of damaged and wrecked relationships I wonder if I am even made up to sustain something beyond a couple of months. There are women that I have cared for, women I have loved, women I have despised, but rarely do I stay attached for more than a few months. Sometimes I think that I have an inherent flaw. I have never been a philanderer. I have never been unfaithful. These are traits I despise - things that other people see as having little or no consequence but I have always felt were symptomatic of a weak resolve.
I won't pretend to believe that all of the women that I have hurt in the past still think about me. I won't fool myself into believing that I dwell on their minds now. I may be a lot of things, but I am rarely immodest about my place in a woman's heart. But still... just the fact that as I look over my shoulder I see a consistent inability to create long lasting relationships romantically is enough to dissuade me from the possible pursuit in the future. It is almost as if I recognize that the behavior is detrimental to me as well as to the woman I may be seeing. And it is for this reason that I very often feel like I should simply withdraw myself from the whole forum of romance. There are people who are suited for this sort of thing and those who are not. These days I am almost positive that I belong to the latter camp. I don't like hurting people. I never have. It just seems like I ma continually doing so. Unendingly. I have no great fear of commitment. Just a great fear of being alone my entire life. Compound that by a desire to have everything be perfect and you have a near fatal mixture. Nothing will ever be perfect. I recognize that.
I am young yet. I see that too. I am not in any rush to have kids, settle down, have a home. They are all things that I would like to have in the future. Unfortunately they may not be realistic at this point in my life. And perhaps when they are realistic I will be ready to find that person that I can settle down with. Maybe we shouldn't be so hard on ourselves as we continually try to understand this clumsy dance of courtship. Maybe there is a solution to figuring it all out. And that solution is the same to almost every question we can ask on this mortal coil; time. Time is always going to reveal our mistakes and correct choices. And if they are not revealed then time will at least do us the favor of eroding the painful memory.

Listening To Fly Me To The Moon by Astrud Gilbert

I think it would be an understatement if I said that I was relatively uninspired. Lately I have not been thinking about a lot of things. Just sort of dealing with day to day business, etc. I can see the next six weeks rising up like a behemoth on the horizon. I have to rehearse a play, continue working, attend several classes, auditions, work on my career, make time for a family reunion and potentially start training for a 5k. I am looking at a pretty busy month and a half that should finish up around June 10th.
Again I am struck by the temporal realities of our lives. I know this sounds strange, but sometimes I feel like there is too much time in our lives. I know that a lot of my friends feel the opposite. They feel like there isn't enough time in this lifetime to accomplish all that they would like. And all of that "live for the moment," "live everyday as if it was your last" business aside, I think that there is plenty of life. Or maybe my life has just taken on a more plebeian rhythm as of late. And it is these mundane trappings that chafe. I don't think of these as dark or depressed thoughts, though maybe they are. Maybe it is more like I expect things to happen, but that they will only happen in their time, and I wish that they would happen sooner rather than later. So, you ask, what did you do today? Well, I woke up around 1 o'clock. Made myself some eggs, went the bathroom, and then went back to bed. It is now 6:45 and I have to get ready for work. I accomplished nothing. I am conscious of the undertones of depression inherent in this non-action. But I feel pretty good. I feel like I did some good stuff the past couple of days and I am going to have to do a lot more in the coming months. So I might as well make the most of my downtime as I can.
Do you think I am a candidate for therapy? Sometimes I wonder if I am.

Listening to Exercise by Clem Snide

Well. Back on a train again. Traveling southbound. Hmmmmm. Southbound. That’s an Allman Brothers’ song, right? I saw them once. They were part of a mass conglomeration of bands that toured the country under a banner title called “The Horde Tour” in the mid to late nineties. My brother Josh took me to see them. I was 14 maybe 15. It was the first time I ever say anyone having sex (like live in person) and the first time I saw and smelled marijuana. My brother told me not to stare. I did anyway. At both the pot and the sex. What was I supposed to do? I was a horny little kid.
Weren’t we all? Maybe not. As time goes on and I take a critical look at my libido I recognize the strange relationship between a man and his penis. When you are a teenager erections arrive almost unendingly and for no apparent reason. You could be sitting in the middle of biology class and receive the largest erection you have ever experienced. As you get older those random erections become more and more infrequent. the act of sex loses a lot of it mystique. A fellow bartender remarked to me, rather matter of factly, that she thought it was funny how as you get older sex gets dirtier. I have always wanted sex to be the same. Something traditional and sweet. A breeze through an open window, a gentle entry, a niece sustained amount of time. Two people connected physically and emotionally. Eventually orgasming together. Is that naive? Marlon Brando was quoted as saying that every desire, every yearning deserts you over time save for one; the sense of taste. He said that ambition, libido, hatred, revenge, all of these savage and passionate emotions and senses eventually die out save for the sense of taste. You can always try more and varied tasting types of food. I guess that is why he died so overweight.
But what if it is true? I mean, in a way, I guess I can already see it happening. Sometimes I think that all of the aspirations and dreams that I have held onto so tightly will just erode in the wake of this long arduous downpour of failures and unrecognized effort. And I am not being depressed about it. I am just trying to be realistic. Evan Dando says “All my life I thought I needed all the things I didn’t need at all. All my life I thiought I wanted all the things I didn’t want at all.”
My friend Sarah’s mother has this woman who “writes for people.” She is kind of like a psychic. You start talking to her and she will start “writing” whatever comes in to ehr head. Sarah called her for me and I spoke with her. The first words out of her mouth were “Ben.....you are a doubting Thomas. You are always on the wrong track at the wrong time.” Regardless of whether or not this woman is a fraud, it is a little disconcerting to hear at any point in your life. I guess it is silly to look back and try to unravel all of the choice that you have made in your life up until this point. Or is that in itself naive. Can I make a change in the direction of my life at any given point? Do I want to? I think that if I have to look at my childhood in a critical manner I would figure out that I was pretty spoiled as a kid. Not spoiled exactly, but definitely didn’t want for anything. And in that respect, my life has been much of the same. I have decided to pursue a rather indulgent line of work, my job affords me a comfortable, if not completely financially stable, lifestyle. I am surrounded by intelligent and like-minded people. It is not a bad gig at all. But is it what I am meant to be doing? I am definitely very good at it. It is probably the only thing I am good at. I can entertain. But what is that? Will it ever pay? And as our celebrity addicted society continues to parody itself in empty spirals what is the meaning of an artist these days. How long until there is a unification between the Patriot Act and People magazine and privacy becomes as archaic a practice as druidism. Is celebrity something that I aspire to? Is fame and notoriety what I am after?
I don’t know. Again I circle back to the thought that most of us want to be retired at an early age. We have been disillusioned by our government, by our parents, by our environment (both childhood and general ecosystem). We see an unfulfilling path laid out for us by capitalism and we wonder at our own relative guilt. Or at least I do. Did I come to New York City because here it is a little easier to ignore everyone else in the world including, sometimes, yourself?
I want an apple juice. I think I am going to walk down to the food car and see if they can wrangle something up.

Listening to Blue-Eyed Soul by Wilco

Someone was trying to explain to me that there is a mathematical algorithm to the shuffle feature on iPods. I find this to be extremely disappointing. You see - I am of the opinion that when you are walking along, genially listening to your iPod, each random song that comes on fulfills some greater deterministic ideal that God has set in motion for you. This is not to say that I am a determinist - far from it. I just like to think that there is something helping to guide my subconscious thoughts through my iPod. Wow - that's kind of freaky. Now I have a little musical robot telling me to do things. Not sure how I feel about that.
I went to a friend's birthday party last night. Now it is Saturday night and I am lying in my bed, listening to Keith Jarrett, and wishing I was eight years old again.
I was talking about Toys 'R Us the other day. I remember being so young and wanting so many toys. I could just wander the aisles again and again. re-hashing which GI Joe was the best, which He-Man would fit perfectly in my Castle Greyskull layout. the characters were so important to me. I remember reading all of the backs of the packages, tracing shiny plastic parts through the transparent casing with my finger. Imagining what each transformation would render for whatever toy I chose. My Mother would be very specific about letting me have only one toy. That was, perhaps, the greatest source of consternation. Having to hold two toys in each hand and decide between the two. In hindsight I can only imagine that she would buy them to make sure that I kept my little mouth shut on the 4 and a half hour ride to Rhode Island to see my Grandparents.
You know what is funny? I remember having this grey plastic He Man figure with extendable limbs and neck. His name was (drum roll please ) Extendo. I was riding in the wayback of our light blue Taurus station wagon. Lying on my back. Streetlights going by outside - it was late and dark. They would whiz by. And the back of the car smelled of so many things. There was a deep oil smell, a new plastic smell. And that weird carpeting back there would scratch your face and make it itch. Still, that wouldn;t stop me from falling asleep. In the middle seats I would always wake up with a big sweaty seat belt mark on my face. Awkwardly climb out of the car. Sleepily amble up my Grandmother's steps. Her house always smelled like soup. This wonderful vegetable soup that she would make from scratch. Actually - she still does. And I would be shuffled off towards some bed with a dim night light nearby, shirt pulled over my head, pjs put on, and quietly tucked into bed. Someone probably gingerly placing some strange plastic man under my arm or setting him nearby to stand guard.

Listening to If I Ever Needed Someone I Need You by Van Morrison

Happy Easter! Are you a recovering Catholic? Have you turned a deaf ear to Jesus whispering in your ear? Are you one of the exponentially growing members of the church of "I believe in something larger than ourselves as long as it isn't a patriarchal figure in a white robe with a big beard?" Do you find yourself lonely sometimes? Depressed? Longing for some sort of contact from something beyond the pedestrian interactions of your daily life? Do you believe in miracles? True love? Well, if this sounds like you then this just may be the blog you have been looking for....
J.C. says eat ham. J.C. says eat chocolate bunnies. J.C. says be happy that you have folks that are happy to be around around.
Three cheers for J.C.!
This morning I am going to cook up a big batch of Bloody Mary's (heh - just recognized the empty symbolism in that one) some eggs benedict (no symbolism there) eggs florentine and home fries. It should be a grand old time. I think my cousin -Ken Fish - will show up. That should be nice too. An Easter brunch at my little humble apartment should be a fun time. Oh yeah - there are going to be some mimosas and black velvets too. For those of you who have never had a black velvet it is a mimosa with Guinness instead of OJ. The juice, not the man.
I have to throw on some after shave, a pair of jeans and a nice pressed shirt because I have some cooking to do. If you are away from your families today I hope that all of your little bunny dreams come true. If you are near them I hope you find their company welcome and warm. And if you have no family at all then you can stop by my place and I'll save a plate of eggs and potatoes for you.
Hooray for J.C!

(Any and all endorsement of Jesus Christ and/or any Christian affiliations should be taken with a grain of salt. Much like Lot's wife).

Listening to The Mighty Quinn by Bob Dylan

I have been perusing dog shelter websites lately. I think I have a sickness. Look at this dog:





Awesome, right? Sigh. I have been working still. But I have had some glimmers of good news. I booked a commercial for a place called CARMAX in Delaware. I would be lying if I said that I haven't been weighing what my conscious choices abou tmy life will be like for the next couple of years. I mean, we all have these lofty dreams - at least the people that I hang out with do - but there is only so much that you can put up with , right? There are certain things I want, like children, a home, a dog, and I have to take a critical look at this selfish endeavor that I have undertaken and decide whether it matches everything I want for my life.
There are many sides to this conundrum. I am constantly flirting with the idea of selling my soul for some sort of management position. The large service industry company I work for is continually moving people up from the inside. I know that I am qualified and with a little bit of application can become a very succesful manager if not more. These feelings have been extremely acute since a fellow that used to be a waiter, then left to open his own bar, has since come back and assumed a management role. I like this man a lot. In fact, he reminds me a lot of way, but in a non-threatening way. He is also my age and has a baby on the way. I don't know if this has influenced his decision at all.
These more serious thoughts are constantly being tempered by those lofty even borderline-fantastic daydreams. I am constantly being overrun by thoughts of reincarnation, learning during a lifetime, duty to integrity, allowing yourself to dream. These thoughts typically follow the same path - that it pops into my head that we are basically put on the planet to learn a great lesson. They almost always have to do with some greater philosophy - love, humility, being prideful, in fact - a lot of Catholic overtones. And I think very often that in some past life, this is getting stranger I know, that I was already something larger in terms of a global scope. Or that I will be in the next life. Or maybe this life is the means by which I prepare myself for the next in which I find that great love. Or maybe this is the one. I am not blind to the fact that romance and love and women are constantly on my mind. I have used the word constantly constantly throughout this entry. Is that what signifies this lifetime? Is this a lover's lifetime? I don't want it to be, I want to find something wonderful and settle down. But maybe I am not meant for it?
Again - these are all dark questions that I want to set afloat. Watch them drift off against a starless night. And just live. But there will never be a time when I won't doubt. There just won't. And getting older is not the ability to dismiss these questions,it is getting better at being able to ignore them.

Listening to I Love You Porgy as played by Keith Jarrett

Okay. I know that I said that I am not typically involved in self-promotion but I am trying to get better at it. Alex keeps telling me I should be and so I shall make a concerted effort in the future. In the meantime, here is a short that I helped cut for Waverly Films. Go to www.waverlyfilms.com and look under the section titled "Our Work." Under that go to "Clip of the Week." Under Clip of the week go to "Jeff's Obstructions." Then you will see some great shots of me being chubby with my hairy naked ass. Enjoy!

Listening To I Feel For You by Chaka Kahn

I got home last night at about 4:30. Went to bed by about 5. This is all in the AM. It is now 1 o'clock. I just woke up. I have to eat something, get in the shower, and go back to work. It's just one of those two day things that you have to push through. I slept like the dead. When I say that I mean that I didn't wake up throughout the whole night. Most nights I toss and turn, wake up frequently, go to the bathroom, stare at the doorknob of my room, look at the clock, etc. I am not an insomniac. I can fall asleep anywhere at anytime. I love to sleep. I just have a bad habit of repeatedly waking up over and over again throughout the night.
Now that I have gotten my less than sufficient 8 hours of sleep, I have to get up and go back into work. Last night I was walking up the stairs at work and something in my knee "wrenched." Not painfully. I just heard a sort of internal "crunch." My legs hurt a lot. All the time. I dreamt about a foot massage last night. It was weird.
I am sorry. This entry is all about complaining. I don't think that this is even remotely entertaining. I just don't have much creative juices left.
Okay, okay, okay. Something entertaining.........
When my two older brothers were kids they were outside playing. Jason was 5 and Josh was 2. It should be said that my older brother Jason was merciless when it came to attacking Josh. They were outside playing and Jason said "Hey Josh, go pick up that rock." So Josh, being the accommodating fellow that he was, went to pick up the rock. "Jason," he says "squishy rock. Squishy rock!"
The rock was poop. It was not a rock. Poop. Not rock but poop. Poop.
Sigh.
Time to make the donuts.

Listening to Lion's Mane by Iron and Wine

Although I feel like I owe very little allegiance to Mike Myers, especially because a lot of my friends in Improv tell me he's a dick, he did coin a really great phrase when I saw him in grad school. When asked about his penchant for performing he said that he was a "site-specific-extrovert." Someone was telling me the other day that they were sure that I was "always on." And this phrase comes up very often. With people I work with at the bar, people I act with, people I interact with daily.
Do you know what's funny? I think of myself mainly as a solitary person. I spend the majority of my day, and thus, my life, quietly. A lot of the time in contemplation. I think that most of my closest friends know this about me. I think that I have always believed that for every hour that you are "on" you need twice as many to just be quiet.
Furthermore, I really detest what "being on" implies. I think that a lot of people we know are "on" sometimes. But this stigma gets attached to actors. It's as if we are being accused of doing something dirty when we get like that. But that's our role. No pun intended. Actor's are meant to be ebullient, outgoing, centers of attention.
The thing is, few people understand that in most cases there is a long interior dialogue that goes on. And even longer periods of inaction or silence. I know that I am prone to self-examination, probably more than others, but there are times when I definitely feel like I need to exercise my right to silence.
Behaviorally, I am not sure what it is about my childhood that made me the way I am. I definitely believe that birth order plays the most significant role in why I am so extroverted. But even as a child I was prone to periods of silence and introspection. I remember very clearly lying down in the back of my parents Ford station wagon. They had two - one sky blue the other black. My Mom's was blue. My Dad's I called "Vader." I was lying in the wayback (is that a New England expression? You know - the wayback, where the seats fold down?) staring out the window and I was just hit by a viscerally charged waved of depression. Just a sudden sadness. The more I move away from childhood the more I realize just how sensitive I was. I looked up to my brothers a lot and I think I wanted to offer them a larger emotion than what they knew what to do with. I think their knee-jerk response was to pummel me. Which is fine - that's only natural.
Throughout my years in education I was always looking for a mentor. Maybe that's a product of having two brothers who related to me with what appeared to be difficulty. My brother Josh, for instance, is practically a monk. he is an extremely stoic individual who, in the past, could have a very fiery temper. When I spent a week on a beach with my family when I was 10 Josh and went walking. I wanted to ask him some questions. Big awkward questions like "Do you think Mom and Dad still love each other? What is high school like? Why do you always wear that ugly Vaurnet Hat?" He said "Meathead (that's what he always called me - Meathead), you ask too many questions." And that was it. Now, in all probability Josh was dealing with his own adolescent angst. But as a ten year old kid you didn't really wanna feel left out of your brother's loop. I guess in some sense it has helped with my independence, and we are all very close now, but very very different people. There is very little to unify us beyond our familial ties. While I think this enough, it still is strange that 3 men could grow up under one roof and have such different life paths.
Anyway, back to the "on" thing. So yeah - actors get a bad rap. Everybody has a friend like that. In college, every frat had one. A mascot/asshole named something stupid like "Ogre" or something. I dunno. Even women have them. That crazy friend "so and so." Just be a little less judgemental next time you accuse someone of being "on" all the time. Chances are, when no one is looking, they go to a place a little bit darker, a little quieter, and a little more solitary than most.
Sigh. Sad clown.

Listening to Shilo by Neil Diamond

I have a little bit of a topic I want to cover when I have some more time. But, I thought that for kick, I would post a little bit of my internet presence. So, at the risk of self-promotion, take a gander here:

http://lydiashow.com

You might have to dig around, but if you look hard you might find me. Naturally, they spelled my name wrong. But that's okay - that way my stalkers won't know how to find me!

Okay got one. I just woke up and I remember a dream I had. I was traveling with two brothers. They were young, one was maybe 15 0r 16 and portly, the other was about 10. We were in a station wagon traveling through a huge mountainous area. Like the opening shot of the Shining. Now we stop at this series of cabins in the middle of the woods where there is some type of Neo-Christian retreat going on. There are a bunch of white people all dressed kind of Abercrombie and Fitch like. They are all ages. From kids to Tween to young adult to middle aged. All in shorts and tee-shirts and polos over waffle knits. All of the waffle knits have the name of some sort of Born Again Christian school on them. One was "Mt. Vernon." Others were like "Hope Springs," Or shit like that. There was also a congregation of very old wizened black people. All in formal Sunday dress. They had a hearse. There was an enormous wooden amphitheater. At it's base was a stage and a curtain. Everything had a pall of grey over it. Behind the curtain there was a dark shallow pool. You could wade through the pool to get to an enormous chalkboard or writing surface. I woke up late, ran down to the theatre but everyone was leaving en masse. I asked my two companions what had happened. I went behind the curtain and into the shallow water. I could not read what was on the board. I began to leave with the older of my two companions - they were brothers I think, and they had been asked to help with all sorts of strange duties that had to be performed throughout the camp. While we are climbing through the amphitheater to get to this weird communal space there are all of these little girls grinning at me. And everybody has like those big blocky college sweaters on with the names of different religious schools. I found another one of those blackboards. One of the duties was make cake, the other was clean-up. Both duties were to be done by R. Crumb. Even my subconscious is lousy at puns. I go through another door and I am on a beach.
It should be noted that this entire dream is grey. Like the color was drained. The sand was not yellow - it was grey. The water was not blue - grey. The dream wasn't black or white, but rather it was all grey. I am on the beach. I am pinned by a woman. I can't remember who she is or why I am pinned. Mick Jagger walks by. He looks forlorn. He shakes my hand. "Hello, Ben" he says. I tell him to have a Merry X-Mas. He smiles sadly and slowly trots off. Ron Wood follows him, sees me, but doesn't make eye contact. Rod Stewart follows Ron Wood. I say "Merry Christmas, Rod." He says something like "We'll see....." and walks off too. That part was really weird and ominous. Actually, it was all pretty ominous.
Then I am back at the retreat (still as grey as I left it) and I am sitting in some kind of cramped communal cabin with different nooks and crannies and discussing what the fuck all of this shit is about with the older brother and how we had better get the fuck out of dodge before something really twisted happens. Because the general consensus around the place was that something really bad was on it's way. Then there was like a manual, or a video manual or something where we watched this little blonde haired professor/outdoorsy type talk about these different interpretations of the apocolypse. Something about how in literature a physical handicap cannot be matched by a psychological one or else it equates to madness. It was really bizarre.. Then she shows this picture of this weird medieval tube. She talks about how it represents the ordering and then re-ordering of chaos and how people believed that that was how the end of the world would come about. The tube was about 4 feet long and had all of these die cast metal figures in it (hahaha metal figures) that were twisted and screaming and frozen. At the far end of the tube (at one end of the tube was a bolt, like the kind you could screw into a wall) there were visible figures, like three or four, who were obviously trying to resist the vacuum that pulled all the other souls? into the breach. the woman called it something with a really long name that i had never heard before. Like "Pendennennennedenoom." I know it sounds crazy. Then she says, when the great re-ordering occurs, and chaos has been ordered and then re-ordered everything will have it's place. The first three things ordered will be "blah, blah, and blah." Which I can't remember now. And the final three things ordered will be "Blah, tobacco, and paz." What the fuck is paz? And that was the end of her speech.. I turned to the older brother and said something. He replied. It was something like "What the fuck are we going to do?" And the dream ended.
There were some obvious apocalyptic overtones to this whole thing. I have these dreams more often than I would like. End of the world type stuff. Sometimes I am in a deserted cityscape other times in the middle of the woods. Sometimes it is right before some impending disaster, sometimes right after. A lot of the time there is a group of children involved. Young kids that need to be rescued. Sometimes I save them, sometimes not. I have fought incarnations of evil in some of the dreams. Some of them faceless, others are represented very clearly. When I was 13 I fought Freddy Krueger in an enormous decrepit skyscraper after racing to the top with a dozen small children. By the time I reached the penthouse suite he had managed to kill all but one child. I threw him out an enormous floor to ceiling window. Another dream had me fighting a 15' tall Marilyn Manson like Anti-Christ figure. It was in a nuclear wrecked junkyard in the middle of a desert. The damn thing was pale as snow, climbed down off of a barb-wire crucifix and everything. There was a yellow school bus behind me filled with children that the damn thing wanted to get at. I can't remember how that one ends. I just remember the monster's long bloody limps stretched out and it's long black greasy hair spilling over its shoulders (shudder).
I don't know why I have these dreams. They pop up every once in a while. I don't think that they are related to stress. At least I hope not. I have tried to look up dream interpretations for this sort of thing but there never seems to be any clear answers. I don't know. If there was a thematic tie to a lot of my dreams it would definitely have to be that. And what's strange is that I am always myself in them. In a lot of my dreams I am someone else. But in these weird fucking armageddon ones I am always Ben. Always just me.....

Listening To So & So So & So From Wherever Wherever by Built To Spill

I think that it is important to have a sense of humor about life. In fact, I think it is the most important thing. And so, it is with great pleasure that I unveil my celebrity look-a-like. Now, in the past I have gotten John Travolta (I think mostly when the dimple on my chin is showing), Donnie Osmond, Rob Lowe, and even Jake Gyllenhall once in a while. The truth is, the celebrity I resemble the most is Robbie Benson. There is simply no contest. And so, for you viewing pleasure, a side by side comparison. Photo credits for me go to Katey Ray.

Listening to This girl's In Love With You as sung by Dusty Springfield

If there was one part of the human experience that I detest the most it would have to be waking up. I have never liked it. I have never been good at it. Once. Once I was good at it. And it is a morning I will always remember. I was a senior in high school. It was spring. I had ate at a hole in the wall Italian eatery called "Bove's" in Burlinton, VT (where I am from) the night before. This morning I woke up a minute before my alarm went off, my eyes wide open, I sat up, popped out of bed, practically leapt into my shower and had one of the most energy filled days of my life. Now, if any of you know me, you know that I am not a very low energy type of guy. Unless you knew me in January/February of 2005 -right, Shannon? It was amazing.
However. most days in high school consisted of this - alarm going off, me stumbling down the hallway to the bathroom, leaning against the wall in the shower while 95 triple x blared from our little shower radio, probably something reprehensible at 6:15 in the morning - EMF's Unbelievable or something - while I thoughtlessly washed my hair and soaped my numb body. Then, stepping onto a freezing cold tile floor masked by an extremely thin rug, I would wrap myself in two towels and sit on the closed top of my toilet until I could muster the energy to get up and get dressed.
Nowadays I wake up and I feel puffy-faced and lost. If you have heard me describe myself when I have just woke up (especially if I am hung over) I almost always say "I feel like I peeled my face off a griddle." Which is exactly how I feel physiologically. Do you have any young cousins? Did they ever sleep over your house when you were growing up? My cousins would sleep over then, as my niece and nephew do now. When you go in to their room to check on them and they are in their pj's do you ever notice how sweaty they are? Sometimes their heads are great big balls of sweat. You pull down their blanket until they just have a sheet lying on them, make sure their favorite stuffed animal is nearby, check the night light and leave the door open a crack. Sometimes I feel like I need someone like that to help me sleep better.
Do you want to know something weird? From a really young age until I was about 8 or 9 my dad would come into my room when he got home from work and hop into bed with me. You see, my Dad would leave home at about 6 am and get home at about 9pm or 10pm seven days a week so we saw each other very rarely. I recognize that this is an extremely personal part of my childhood, and one that I have really never told anyone about, but I think it is okay to mention it. He would lie down on my bed and squeeze men and rub his day's stubble on my face and ask me how my day was. I, always sleepy would just giggle and tell him to stop. Of course, as I got older, I became more annoyed by this habit and by the time I was in 3rd or 4th grade he eventually stopped. I remember being really over-sensitize to the whole thing after we had to take a molestation awareness class or some shit. However, now I can kind of see where he was coming from. When I see my niece and nephew I want to squeeze the piss out of them. Of course, they don't want to be hugged and kissed all the time. they want to play with their toys and run around, etc. If I had my own kids and I didn't get to see them all day, especially my youngest, I would want to spend a little time with them too. That's all my Dad was doing.
It's funny how a little bit of life can shed some light on those strange childhood moments. I guess I better get my ass out of bed and get to work. Again.

Listening to the cars outside my window by New York City

I am going to attempt a little bit of postmodern humor right now. It is 3:30 am on Saturday. I just lost an hour of sleep because of some fucked up rule that Ben Franklin made up about 2 hundred years ago, and I am delaying sleep after perhaps one of the most difficult work weeks of my life. Maybe not difficult, just long. The humor comes in to play when you combine the fact that I am running on very little gas to the fact that i could be sleeping but instead I am blogging away.
Put-put-put.
That's my little blog engine.
By the way, who's the person that keeps posting comments and then deleting them. It's a little creepy. If you want to say something say it. Otherwise just don't write anything. Unless it's you Polly. You can write whatever you want whenever you want.
My feet hurt. I think I made an empty promise to my brothers to run that damn 5K again this year. I don't know what i was thinking. I better start hitting that treadmill.
The triscuits I couldn't stand from the other day are rosemary ones. They are sitting on my shelf. They watch me when I walk past them to go the bathroom. Sometimes they speak. They say "Why don't you like us? Why won't you eat us? Why are you imbuing us with a collective consciousness?"
I can't answer these questions. I have had approximately 7 days just blur into one long messy beer and wine spill. The people don't bother me as much as they used to. I guess that I have just come to understand that I work at a place filled with assholes. I don't want to work there anymore. Well, that's not entirely true....wait....yes it is. It's not that I don't want to work there anymore, I just don't want to tend bar anymore. It's not exciting. It's not thrilling. It's sticky. And loud. And people are annoying. Oh - I know what I can do! I can list my top five least favorite bar customers. Maybe this will serve as some guidance to all of you who frequent bars.

1. This is the person who drives me the most crazy. I know that most bartenders might disagree, but I hate this the most. I hate really pretty women who come up to a packed bar and expect a drink (most of the time for free) simply because they are really pretty women. In fact, when I see a woman shoulder past her boyfriend to stand in front of him to get a drink, I usually approach the man and ask him if he wants anything. I see you, I'm busy, put your tits away. People who think they deserve something on genetic aesthetic merit alone are assholes.

2. A close, very close second, is the asshole dude with money who calls out for you. Hey prick - I see you. Don't wave a twenty in my face. Don't call me Jefe, or Captain, or Admiral, or Bud, or Pal, or Guy, or Bartender, or Man, or Dude, or Chief (NEVER EVER CHIEF). I will get to you. When I do just say, "Hi, I would like to order a ......." Now that we have established how to address me we shall move on to the next most annoying patron...

3. Nickel and dime dude. This is the guy (or woman - i have to keep it equal and fair because 51 % of the population are women and I just read about that in Susie's blog) that orders a drink, you go and get it, bring it back, and he has another drink he wants to order. You go and make that, bring it back, and he orders another drink from you. You go and make that, and, wising up, ask if he wants anything else, at which point he turns to everyone else in his party and asks if they need a drink. Clearly not recognizing the other patrons at the bar or the fact that you are beyond the definition of busy. He just simply believes that you are there to serve him and only him. FUCKING KNOW ALL THE DRINKS YOU WANT TO ORDER. I'M A BARTENDER NOT A FUCKING ROCKET SCIENTIST. I CAN REMEMBER 5 FUCKING DRINKS. IF I CAN'T THEN I WILL GO DIG DITCHES.

4. Okay - now that we have taken the order for the drinks comes another terrible patron. The "I-Never-Take-Out-My-Wallet-Until-You-Tell-Me-The-Total-Dude." You just ordered drinks, you know I am making them. TAKE YOUR FUCKING MONEY OUT AND BE READY TO PAY, ASSHOLE. It just makes my job easier.

5. Finally, never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, order your drinks, turn around to talk to somebody or hit on someone or walk away. Unless you plan on walking out on your drinks, which is fine (unless it's a bottle of Krystal), DON'T FUCKING MOVE. STAY RIGHT FUCKING THERE. Because now I have to get out from behind my bar or hoot or whistle or yell while people are screaming at me all because you want to stare at the décolletage of some shifty broad behind you.

Oh - here is another pointer. Never whistle. If you want a bartender to never serve you, just whistle. I am not a fucking dog. I am a human being, just as you purport to be. Don't whistle. Just don't do it. Act like you're in a library. Stand silently with your money out. If it is busy then I will get to you. Be patient. They hired me to work in this busy bar for a reason. Hopefully it was not because of my skills at fellatio or cunnilingus. Patience is a virtue.

some other facts - Women are notoriously worse tippers than men. All of my friends are happy exceptions to this rule. But generally -about 75% of the time, women leave approximately 10% or less.

If you want to pick a bartender up, especially a male one, be discreet. Show up a couple times to the bar. Do not get wasted the first night you meet him and hang around the bar until closing. Not attractive. Bartenders sometimes come into the bars where they work to hang out. Ask them what other bars they like to go to. Again, be discreet. If you ask him if he has a girlfriend he knows you like him. If you have your girlfriend ask him if he has a girlfriend he knows you like him. If you ask him if you can buy him a shot he thinks your cool and assumes you like him. If you do get wasted and hang around the bar all night until he takes you home then you probably should not have gone home with him. Remember - it is his JOB to be nice to you. And if he is good at his job then he will be very good at being nice to you.
If you want to pick a female bartender up good luck. That shit never happens.

Don't eat out of the garnish tray. It's not sexy. Do you know where those garnishes have been? Neither do I. Do you see me eating them? No. And I work there. Don't even get me started on bar snacks. Unless you see that shit coming out of a bag into the container in front of you then it is undoubtedly covered with the urine from the dude's hands before you.

Wow. That was informative. This has been a little lesson in bar decorum here at Mr. R's Neighborhood. Won't you be my neighbor?